


Ducklings

by pretentiousashell



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Dissociation, Found Family, Gen, Michael Definitely Has Issues, Post S01E05, Shore Leave, So Does Everyone Elso But It's More Implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 12:38:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12388236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretentiousashell/pseuds/pretentiousashell
Summary: “I doubt I’m allowed off the ship,” Michael said when Tilly remained oddly silent.“Hm,” Stamets hummed, eyes narrowing. He looked at Tilly.Tilly shrugged. “I’m sure the skeleton crew will need help,” she managed uncomfortably.In which the crew gets shore leave, and some families are meant to be made.





	Ducklings

**Author's Note:**

> I'll literally sell my soul to the found family trope.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Comments and kudos always appreciated!

Upon Lorca’s rescue, the admiralty ordered a mandatory three-day leave at the nearest safe and available planet.

Michael and Tilly exchanged one blank glance at the news before hurriedly pretending they hadn’t, and the matter wasn’t discussed at all.

The designated planet was far enough from the war that they’ve only seen whispers of it, and Lorca, furious, shut himself in his ready room for forty-seven hours straight until Saru personally escorted him to sickbay for a sedative.

“Like three damn days will cost the war,” Stamets scoffed as he relayed the story to them absently, fiddling with the spore drive. “Cadet, hand me that PADD.”

Tilly hurriedly passed him the PADD, picking up another one for herself to use. “Do you have any shore leave plans?” she asked, then looked up sharply. “Oh, that was inappropriate, wasn’t—”

“Relax,” Stamets huffed, and Michael caught sight of an eye-roll that may have been slightly fond. “Hugh and I were gonna go check out this anatomy museum.”

“Oh?” Tilly prompted, looking relieved.

“He won’t shut up about it,” Stamets muttered, a soft, peculiar smile curling his lips. His eyes flicked across them. “And you two?”

“I doubt I’m allowed off the ship,” Michael said when Tilly remained oddly silent.

“Hm,” Stamets hummed, eyes narrowing. He looked at Tilly.

Tilly shrugged. “I’m sure the skeleton crew will need help,” she managed uncomfortably.

Stamets, frowning, gave a thoughtful nod. “Report on the tardigrade-human cross analysis?”

“Of course,” Michael said, and the subject was dropped.

That is, it was dropped until Michael ran into Culber on the way to snatch a hasty dinner for her and Tilly, who was pretending not to nap in their quarters.

“Burnham,” Culber said happily. “Isn’t it late for you to be grabbing food? You’re on the alpha schedule, right?”

“Stamets had us working late,” Michael said with a nod. “Did you just get off shift?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty hungry.”

Michael quirked a vague smile at him. “I can imagine.”

After a few moments of walking in silence, Culber said, “Lieutenant Stamets told me you and Cadet Tilly are coming with us to the museum.”

Michael blinked. “What?”

Culber raised an eyebrow that vaguely reminded Michael of Spock. “Did he neglect to tell you of your new plans?” he asked, bemused.

“It appears so,” Michael said warily.

Culber grinned. “He does that. I’d apologize for him, but then I’d probably have to apologize to everyone on the ship, and I just don’t have the damn energy.”

Michael huffed. “He’s not your responsibility.”

“I’m glad you’re coming with us, though,” Culber continued, eyes unfocusing slightly. “As a xenoanthropologist, what’s your opinion on the various theories of widespread humanoid life?”

Michael perked up.

When she returned to their room, Tilly startled awake and said, “I wasn’t asleep.”

“We’re apparently invited to the museum with Stamets and Culber,” Michael informed her, passing over Tilly’s meal.

Tilly blinked at Michael once. “What?”

“He must have felt bad for us.”

Tilly quickly looked away. “Oh.”

 

* * *

 

 

Their last day of work before shore leave, Stamets casually said, “Make sure you pack sweaters. The planet has a room temperature five degrees below Earth’s.”

Michael and Tilly startled. Perhaps they’d both almost assumed the museum offer had been in jest. “Of course, sir,” Tilly responded hastily after Michael blanked out.

“And don’t make it weird, for god’s sake.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m gonna make it weird,” Tilly whispered, wide eyes panicked as she clutched an overstuffed suitcase to her chest.

“It’s one of your more endearing personality quirks,” Michael assured her as she slung her mostly empty bag over her shoulders.

Tilly blinked, then smiled brilliantly. Michael stilled in the face of it. “You think I’m endearing?”

Michael smothered the private smile that wanted to surface and passed Tilly the PADD she’d almost forgotten. Tilly continued grinning as she somehow managed to shove it in her bag.

“ _Stamets to ducklings, come in_ ,” their room’s comm chirped. Michael scowled at their new nickname and pressed the button on the wall to receive.

“Burnham and Tilly here, Lieutenant.”

“ _Get your asses to the transporter room in fifteen minutes. Stamets out_.”

Fourteen and a half minutes later, they stood in the transport room for their beam-down to the surface.

The transport tech eyed Michael suspiciously, clearly trying to wordlessly inform her that she should not be allowed to take liberty of shore leave privileges.

“She’s with me,” Stamets said dismissively, not looking up from a small handheld PADD. “I need her advisement on an experiment integral to the spore drive.”

“Of course, sir.”

Michael looked at Stamets in surprise, and Stamets met her gaze with a little wink.

Michael turned to Tilly to see if she’d noticed _that_ , but Tilly was absorbed with something Culber was telling her.

Once they materialized in a hotel lobby, Michael shivered, wishing she’d already donned the thick sweater that Amanda had made for her. She suddenly missed Vulcan with a deep, pulsating ache.

Culber elbowed her gently, nodding at the reception desk where a Vulcan man was checking in. “Taste of home, huh?” he whispered, as if he’d read her thoughts.

Michael swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I suppose,” she said neutrally.

“Suite for the Stamets-Culber party,” the receptionist said. “Fifth floor.”

The suite had two bedrooms and a small replicator and dining area. Stamets and Culber headed for the room with the one bed, and Michael and Tilly efficiently settled themselves into the other room with two smaller beds. Michael stared at the crisp sheets. She hadn’t expected that they’d be staying in the same suite, but it wasn’t like she could discreetly extract herself back to the ship.

“Who’s hungry for some non-replicated food?” Culber called from the other room.

“Oh!” Tilly gasped in delight. “Me!”

“Then get out here,” Culber laughed.

“And put your sweaters on,” Stamets shouted, voice muffled from whatever he was doing in his room. “The last thing I want is for one of you to get a cold and ruin the museum tour with your sniffles.”

Michael smoothed her hands over the fabric of her sweater, a worn burgundy that recalled images of home. She took a deep, meditative breath and followed Tilly outside.

They found a restaurant for local cuisine, and Michael ordered the first vegetarian option she saw. She felt removed from the situation, and all that she could think about was Sarek’s detachment from them and Sybok’s long-ago banishment and Spock’s condemning silence since the mutiny. She placed her hands flat on her thighs so that they wouldn’t shake and breathed through her nose. The familial bonds in her head were quiet and faint. At her side, Tilly’s voice was enthusiastic and just loud enough to draw attention, and Michael couldn’t hear a single word she was saying.

Stamets kicked her shin hard under the table, and she tried not to jolt. “In your professional opinion, would Ripper ever visit us?” His eyes were too sharp, too perceptive.

“Like a crow?” Michael asked blankly.

“Or a stray cat,” Stamets agreed.

“No,” Michael said simply, and she was fiercely glad for it. The ringing in her ears began to slowly abate, and she felt the numb tingling in her fingers.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t let me say good-bye.”

“You were busy being a hero,” Culber said with a long-suffering eye-roll.

“Hardly,” Stamets scoffed.

Michael took a tentative bite of the meal in front of her and tasted it for the first time.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, listen to me, ducklings,” Stamets snapped, all grouchy edges and relaxed lines, a perfect juxtaposition. “Get your good damn nights of sleep because we’re waking up at 0600 sharp for this museum.”

“Yes, sir, mother duck, sir,” Tilly agreed with a cheerful salute, turning to their room before she could see Stamets’ appalled expression.

After Tilly had disappeared into the bathroom and Culber was back in their room, Stamets eyed Michael warily. “You know, you shouldn’t space out,” he said tersely, clearly not sure how to navigate such an egregious overstep of privacy.

“I—have it under control,” Michael managed after a moment.

Stamets hummed noncommittally. He gave her a stiff pat on the shoulder that would have been hilariously awkward if Michael hadn’t immediately felt all the muscles in her neck and upper back go boneless. “Good. Because if you drop in efficiency, we all do.”

“Understood.”

“Sleep, Burnham.”

 

* * *

 

 

For a long time, Michael stared at the ceiling, letting Tilly’s snores wash over her, reminding her that she wasn’t in the prison colony, that she wasn’t First Officer of the _Shenzou_ , that everything had fallen apart but that she was safe and trying to make it better.

She could do this for Philippa. She could find her footing and, maybe, there was a slim sliver of hope that she could find a family again.

The thought was enough to yank her into a guilt-ridden nightmare as she faded to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

When Stamets mercilessly turned the lights to 100% at 0600 on the dot, shouting, “Wake up!” Michael frowned at the ceiling. She glanced and saw Tilly struggling with her mop of curls, sitting up groggily but still grinning when Stamets said something slightly less rude than was his usual. She watched as Culber wandered into the room, clutching a cup of coffee with stars in his eyes while Stamets and Tilly eagerly rushed to the replicator for their own cups. She clenched her fists in her sheets.

Culber sat on the edge of her mattress and offered a knowing smile, eyes sad. “You know,” he began quietly enough that only she could hear, “mother ducks are pretty doting to their young.”

Michael frowned, eyes narrowing, but she said nothing.

“They’re protective. They’re watchful. But—” Culber offered a grim smile, “—they will abandon their ducklings when they’re trapped.”

Michael’s throat closed off. She blinked rapidly. “Sir, I—”

“Did you know ducklings can die from hypothermia even if it’s warm out?” Culber mused, eyes far away.

Michael steadied herself on a deep, shaking inhale. “Yes.”

Culber leaned forward, his gaze zeroing in on her, intense. “Don’t get trapped where we can’t save you.”

“Yes, sir,” Michael managed, voice tight.

Culber extended his hand, and after a brief hesitation, Michael grabbed it, hauling herself upwards. He smiled at her. “Let’s go see some skeletons.”

Michael let herself follow.

**Author's Note:**

> [my disco tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/michaelburnhamfanclub)


End file.
